


claws & chlorine

by corallydica



Category: Glee, teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Teen Wolf/Glee crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:20:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corallydica/pseuds/corallydica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in California, Puck decides to supplement his income by cleaning pools for some lonely ladies. His newest client? Mrs. Whittemore. (AU in which Jackson's parents are divorced and he does not, in fact, get sent to London)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. freaking fangs, man!

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a random crackfic idea that popped into my head, and I kinda ditched it months ago after one chapter but then for some reason people recently started to follow it on ff? So I decided to write a little more and post it here, too. Also it's just fun to think about, so there's that.

So Puck’s plan of instant success in California hadn’t exactly panned out like he’d expected.

But that’s okay, because Noah Puckerman doesn’t just lay down and die when things get a little rough. He’s determined. He’s resourceful.

And he knows where to get cheap pool gear.

He started out modestly, securing a few regular clients. The usual type. You know the ones. Divorcees both recent and not, the unhappily married; these are Puck’s gals, and he thrives within their orbit. Give Puck your tired, your desolate, your despairing, but you can keep your poor.

He’s gotta make that tip somehow, right?

It was his third time at one particular client’s house. He’d spotted her at the grocery store and could practically smell the divorce on her. Well, that and some fancy-smelling perfume. Probably expensive. Naturally, he pounced.

She’d signed up for his services without even asking for references. Then again, the only references he usually needs are a waggle of his eyebrows and his muscles in a too-tight tee.

It was going smoothly. She hadn’t made her move yet, but she was thinking about it. Puck can always tell when they’re thinking about it. She was trying to hold out, but Puck could wait her out. His initial impression that she was loaded couldn’t have been more right, and if he could just hang in there until she took the bait, he’d be looking at a fat tip just for giving her his fat-

“I know what you’re trying to do,” said a voice from directly behind him. It was so close he could feel the hot, angry breaths against his neck. “And it stops now.”

Puck stopped skimming and turned around to find his client’s pretty-boy son standing behind him, doing his best to look intimidating and authoritative.

What was his name? Jason? Jonathan?

_Jackson._

Puck chuckled and waved a dismissive hand. “Listen, sweetheart, I don’t make a habit of being intimidated by future male models. So how about you go and practice wearing cardigans or something, ‘cause I’m working here.”

Jackson took another step forward, looming on the very edge of Puck’s personal space. Was this guy gonna fight him or kiss him?

“Last time I’m gonna tell you nicely,” Jackson snarled, locking eyes with Puck. “Leave. And don’t even think about coming back.”

Damn, but the boy’s eyes were such an intense shade of blue.

Puck shook his head and focused on the threat he’d just been given. He’d heard it before, mostly from dipshit husbands who’d finally wised up to what he was doing with their wives. Never from a son before. But hey, there’s a first time for everything.

Then again, this would also be the first time he’d invested time in a client that didn’t pay out.

How about a big, juicy ‘no’ to that.

Puck leaned in, because he could do it, too, and smirked his best ‘you don’t bother me one bit’ smirk at the blonde.

“And what if I don’t do that?” Puck asked, but it wasn’t really a question. No chance he was leaving without getting what he’d put so much sweat and low-slung shorts into.

Jackson’s snarl turned from human to something else. His teeth grew into fangs— _freaking fangs, man!_ —and the blue of his eyes intensified to an impossibly brighter hue. There were tufts of hair where they hadn’t been, and his forehead pinched between his eyebrows, enhancing his sinister glare.

“Get out,” Jackson growled, shoving at his chest forcefully with a clawed hand.

“What the-” Puck stammered, managing to grab his keys and wallet before scrabbling out of the backyard to his truck. “Fuck was that,” he finished, resting his forehead against the steering wheel as he caught his breath.

Shakily, he drove himself home, wondering all the way if he’d really seen what he thought he’d just seen, or if it was possible that slightly expired gas station sushi could cause hallucinations.

I mean, sure, he’d heard stories about the town since he’d moved into the area. But to actually believe there were real werewolves running around Beacon Hills? It seemed a little far-fetched.

Still, Puck couldn’t deny what he’d seen. Fangs. Claws. The shift that happened right before his eyes. And yeah, it had been initially weird, if not downright terrifying, but the more Puck thought about it, the more he kind of wanted to know more.

Because, like, the dude threatened him and then wolfed out, but he didn’t hurt him. He maybe could have, probably, whatever. But he hadn’t.

Plus, Puck left his pool-cleaning gear. And while he knew how to sweet talk a good deal on pH test kits and chlorine tablets and skimmers, they still cost money that he didn’t have.

So that was it. Screw Fido, he was going back for his stuff.

He showed up the next day, all business as usual. Changed the filter, checked the pH and added some chlorine. All the things he should’ve done yesterday, but had been so callously deterred.

Puck felt the eyes on him before he saw them. He had a sixth sense for when he was being watched. Only this time, the scorching gaze didn’t belong to a cougar.

It belonged to a wolf.


	2. are we gonna have a problem?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson is less than enthused by Puck's continued presence, and Puck has a work ethic, okay?

Jackson was on his way to the kitchen to make breakfast when he saw him.

The guy from the day before was in his backyard again, dancing around the pool with his earbuds in, skimming his net across the water as he shook his hips and sang along to some classic rock song that Jackson couldn't quite place.

Jackson yanked open the sliding glass door and hollered, "Hey!"

The guy's back was facing him, and if he could hear Jackson at all over his music, he didn't jump for it. Jackson sighed and padded barefoot across the patio.

"Hey!" he repeated, rougher than the last time. The guy went rigid for a moment, his heartbeat unmistakably picking up speed. But then he was pocketing his earbuds and turning an arched brow on Jackson.

"Can I help you?" the guy asked, tone casual, like he was conducting a legitimate business and not trying to bang people's mothers.

Jackson's lip twitched. "Yeah," he said, taking a step closer. "You can tell me what you're doing here."

The guy smirked. "Well, right now I'm skimming," he said, slowly, as though he thought he was talking to a stupid person. Jackson's jaw tightened. "And a few minutes ago I was changing the filter and checking the pH, which are things I should've done yesterday, but someone went all Michael J. Fox on me."

Jackson chuckled drily. "Yet apparently you couldn't take a hint," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't want you here, and I sure as shit don't want you anywhere near my mom."

"Yeah," the guy said. "I know."

"Then why the fuck are you here?" Jackson gritted out, trying his level best not to flash his fangs again.

"Because, I don't know if you've noticed, but pool gear is actually not the cheapest thing, and I left mine here yesterday," he said, running his free hand over his mohawk absently. "And, also, contrary to what you might think, even pool cleaners can take pride in their work ethic."

Jackson blinked at him. "Work ethic? You've been trying to fuck my mom for the past week."

"Yeah," the guy conceded, "but has your pool ever looked better?"

Jackson snarled.

"Wait, wait, okay," the guy said, raising a hand in a placating gesture. "We got off to a bad start. Maybe we should try again." He stuck his hand out to Jackson. "Hey, I'm Noah Puckerman, but you can call me Puck."

Jackson eyed him with scrutiny, but he found himself shaking hands with him anyway. "Puck," he echoed, just to see how it felt on his tongue. He tightened his grip on Puck's hand. "Are we gonna have a problem?"

Puck, to his credit, didn't flinch. "I'm just here to do my job, man. I swear."

It occurred to Jackson that if he was successful in scaring Puck off for good, his mom would expect him to start cleaning the pool again, and that just simply wasn't going to happen. Besides that, Puck's heartbeat did seem to suggest that he was being forthright, so Jackson let go of his hand before he broke any fingers. "You're going to stay away from my mom, you understand? From now on all of your interactions will be with me."

"Fine by me," Puck said, wriggling his fingers and examining them with a pained look. "Ease up on the tough guy stuff, though, would you? This is my strumming hand."

Jackson's eyebrows shot up. "You play guitar?"

Puck shrugged. "Not as much as I used to," he said, turning his attention to a struggling bug on the pool's surface. Jackson watched him scoop it into the net and shake it loose onto the grass.

"Hm," Jackson said, mostly to himself. And then, because he'd been wondering since he'd heard it, "What was that song you were singing earlier?"

"You heard that?" Puck asked, surprised.

Jackson smirked. "I can hear a lot of things."

Puck stared at him, unblinking, looking very much like he was torn between being terrified and fascinated. "Oh," he said, after a prolonged silence. "Uh, it was Journey. Separate Ways."

"You sounded pretty good," Jackson admitted. "Could probably be doing a lot more than cleaning pools."

Puck chuckled. "Yeah, well, that's the dream."

"Keep your hands off my mom, and maybe you'll live to see it," Jackson said, because no amount of idle conversation would make him forget why he was standing there in the first place.

"Noted," Puck said, squinting at Jackson in the sunlight and grinning.

Jackson felt inexplicably disarmed. He didn't like it. He took a few steps back and crossed his arms over his chest again, all business. "When, uh, when should I expect you again?"

Puck chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Uh, Friday? I usually skip every other day."

"Fine," Jackson said. "I'll be here."

"It's a date," Puck said with a smirk.

Jackson rolled his eyes and walked back into the house without another word.


End file.
